


Father Figure

by kopycat_101



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Adorable Marc Anciel, Adorable Rose Lavillant, Art, Art Club, Art teacher is named Mr. Carracci and I'm giving him a name and personality, As well as the Art Club that was only shown for 1 episode, Asexual Character, Awkward Crush, Bisexual Disaster Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Bisexual Female Character, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexual Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Bisexual Rose Lavillant, Comfort, Crushes, Dorks in Love, Established Relationship, F/F, Female Friendship, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Found Family Elements, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gay Disaster Marc Anciel, Gay Marc Anciel, Gay Panic, Gen, Hot Mess Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Juleka Couffaine, M/M, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Middle School, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mr. Carracci is aroace and never married or had kids, Nathaniel Kurtzberg Has ADHD, POV Male Character, POV Original Character, POV Third Person, Panic Attacks, Primarily fixing things by showing a supportive teacher, Protective Nathaniel Kurtzberg, School, Song Lyrics, Supportive Teachers, Teacher-Student Relationship, Teachers Actually Doing Their Job, Teen Crush, Teen Romance, Teenage Dorks, Teenagers, The Art Squad TM, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, but the Art Club are his kids, since canon couldn't be bothered
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:20:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25136806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kopycat_101/pseuds/kopycat_101
Summary: Nathaniel wheezes, obviously realizing what he’d just said. His face rapidly turns into the color of his hair.“Mister!” Nathaniel squeaks out, in a weak attempt to cover his slip-up. “Th-thanks Mr. Carracci!” Alix merely laughs harder in the background.The art teacher bites down a smile, busying himself with collecting the drawing instruments back into the pencil bag and pretending he hadn’t heard. He knows the drill; this isn’t the first time a student has accidentally slipped up and called him their father. He’s been teaching for twenty years now.One by one, the students of Dupont’s Art Club start calling Mr. Carracci their father.(Or: A family can be an art teacher and his six students.)
Relationships: Alix Kubdel & Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Art Teacher (Miraculous Ladybug) & Everyone, Juleka Couffaine/Rose Lavillant, Marc Anciel & Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Marc Anciel/Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug & Alix Kubdel
Comments: 65
Kudos: 221
Collections: Miraculous Stories





	Father Figure

**Author's Note:**

> I've been highly enabled to write this. We all want one (1) good teacher for these kids in this wack series, and the art teacher has done literally Nothing Wrong, so he's our best bet.
> 
> Catch me taking a minor character and fleshing him out and giving him a name because Canon couldn't even bother to do that... I guess I have to do all the work here... smh.
> 
> This all started off with a fun and cute little idea I wanted to make into a quick oneshot, and it blew up to 6k words. I'm...not even surprised anymore. This keeps happening.
> 
> Warning: Marc has a panic attack in this fic. It's not very detailed, but if you want to skip that, go from "Nathaniel snaps his head to look over at Mr. Carracci, horrified" straight to ""There we are, Marc,” Mr. Carracci says softly". Keep yourselves safe!

* * *

Today was a Wednesday, which was the day the Art Club at College Francois Dupont meets.

Mr. Carracci watches the doors of his classroom as the members of the club gather in the Art Room between the final bell and the club officially starting at 4:40 p.m.

First to enter were Rose and Juleka, arm-in-arm, Rose chattering up a storm while her girlfriend quietly smiled and nodded. Next was Alix, dramatically skidding into the room on her skates. Nathaniel jogged in not long afterwards, rolling his eyes as his best friend taunted him for being slow while skating figure eights around him.

Marc was next to arrive after the rush, as quiet as a mouse, which was usual for the skittish boy. He visibly brightened at seeing Nathaniel sitting at their usual table, quickly making his way over to sit by him.

The last one to arrive was Marinette, who literally tripped into the room right on time. Alix guffawed at the sight, while Marc bolted straight up from his seat and attempted to move to help her, only to trip and almost fall over the bench. He tumbled on top of Nathaniel in the process, the other squawking in alarm as Marc landed sprawled out over his back. The dark-haired boy squeaked and stuttered apologies, face as red as his hoodie, as he tried to pick himself back up.

Mr. Carracci was the one to move to the front to help Marinette up, as the rest of the club was too involved in watching the two comic book creators awkwardly disentangle from each other.

“Here, Marinette, grab my hand,” the art teacher offers gently, waiting patiently as the Asian girl finished gathering herself. After a few seconds, she takes his hand, and he carefully hauls her back up to her feet.

For someone so tiny, she weighed quite a bit. Either that, or he was getting old…

“Um, sorry. Th-thank you!” Marinette bows while giving her flustered apology.

“It’s fine, Marinette. I trust that you’re alright?”

“Y-Yes! Thank you again, sir,” the pigtail-wearing girl nods bashfully.

“I’m glad.” He simply smiles and hands Marinette her fallen bag, and then moves to check in on the two male members of the club.

“Are you boys alright?” the older man asks kindly, dark eyes twinkling in amusement as he takes in the two now sitting next to each other, the awkwardness all but rolling off them in waves.

“Y-Yes! I-I’m fine,” Marc manages to say, voice thick with embarrassment, face still flushed a dark pink.

“You almost brained yourself against the desk. Are you sure…?” Nathaniel asks, turning to look at the other boy, concern shining through his awkwardness.

“If you ever need to go to the Nurse’s office, you’re free to do so,” Mr. Carracci says, a gentle reminder and interjection. He knows Marc is the type to wave anything away and has a hard time asking for help, being so shy and insecure, so a reminder will do wonders. “That goes for anyone in the club, really. Your health and wellbeing should be a priority.”

Marc nods his head furiously, quick to show his understanding. “Y-Yes sir! I’ll do that in the future, if I need to.”

“Yeah, same here,” Nathaniel nods at the older man, before turning to smile at the writer. “If you’re okay, though, d’you want to look at what I’ve drawn so far?”

“Sure!” Marc chirps, smiling back and straightening his spine, all but glowing under the other’s attention.

Mr. Carracci simply smiles and walks away from the table, happy to see the bump smooth out. The boys always seemed to get along very well, but there were times where awkwardness would get in the way. Usually from Marc, because the poor boy had a very obvious crush on Nathaniel and would get very flustered very easily.

The teacher makes his way to the only (official) couple in the room, to ask if Rose or Juleka needed anything.

“I’m good, Mr. Carracci!” Rose trills, tapping her pen against her notebook in a frenetic beat that only she could hear in her head. He nods at her and turns to look at the quiet girl sitting besides her.

“Could you look at some of my photos…?” Juleka eventually asks in a mumble.

“Sure thing, Juleka,” Mr. Carracci agrees, with an encouraging smile. He waits for her to fish her camera out of her bag, and turn it on, clicking to the photos she wants to show him.

He’s careful when she hands him her camera, knowing to treat the piece of equipment with respect. He tabs through the photos—night scenes on a river—and is impressed with the simple effectiveness of them. When he looks up, Juleka is peering at him intently, even as she hides behind her long bangs.

“The atmosphere of these are gorgeous, Juleka. I really enjoy how you’ve captured the night on the water,” he praises, watching the girl subtly light up. “Next time, play around with different angles to shoot from, and see if those earn you different results.”

“’Kay,” the goth girl nods, a subtle smile on her lips as she takes back the camera from him. “Thanks, sir.”

“You’re very much welcome,” he tells her warmly. “And when you have more, don’t hesitate to show them to me either.”

Juleka simply nods, clamming up, but the man isn’t offended whatsoever. Juleka is a sweet, but very shy and introverted girl, who had trouble speaking up. Sometimes, she just plain didn’t say anything at all, but that didn’t mean she was ignoring who she was interacting with.

Mr. Carracci keeps moving on his rounds. Marinette is intent, pinning up pieces of fabric against one of the mannequins she uses as a model. Her tongue slightly pokes out, pins expertly balanced in-between her fingers like deadly claws. She gives him a distracted hello as she keeps working.

The man smiles and moves to the final member of the Art Club, the small and fierce Alix.

The girl’s looking between different spray cans, muttering to herself. After a few seconds, she picks one up, shakes it, and adds an arc to the outside of one of the graffiti letters across the plywood wall reserved for her street art.

“Hey, sir, can I get a sec?” she asks, half-turning to him. “Dunno if this color combo will work.”

“Well, what type of palette or aesthetic are you going for?” he asks, as he slowly steps up to her side to get a closer look.

“Going for a type of…I dunno, neon theme, almost? Like, big neon signs.”

“Well, if you want the sort of glowing effect of a neon sign, the letters are usually bordered by a lighter version of the color, and then slightly darker version on the side that has a shadow cast,” he starts, gesturing slightly to the left and right of the first letter on the plywood. “So here, this red? It should be a pink or almost white color on the left, and then a slightly darker red on the right.”

“Oh, okay,” she nods, tilting her head to consider her work. “Cool, thanks. I’ll do that, then.”

“Glad to help,” he tells her, remembering another tip. “Oh! And since neon signs emit light, there should be an almost ‘halo’ effect as well.”

“So, like…The letters would have a—a fuzzy border, almost?” she asks, twirling the spray paint can in her hand. “Since light rays aren’t solid.”

“Yes, exactly. Now, go and try it out for yourself.”

“Nice,” she grins at him, crooked and toothy. “Thanks again.”

“You’re welcome,” he nods with a smile, stepping back to give the girl room. From experience, he knows Alix likes spray-painting with almost larger-than-life motions with her arms, as if making up for her small stature and wingspan in her artistic endeavors.

Mr. Carracci watched for a minute as Alix fixed her earlier mistake, putting his advice into action with her color choices. She seemed to quickly get a grasp on what she was doing. No surprise there; Alix was very clever and well-read when it came to art, because of her father having such a high position in The Louvre.

The art teacher smiles, feeling pride swell within him. He turns to survey the room at large, watching the students working on their respective artistic endeavors.

They were flourishing here, in this safe and open space made for them. He was glad.

The man went back to sit at his desk to work on grading, for the time being. If any of the students had an issue arise before he made another round across the room, they were welcome to just ask, as he’s told them many times before.

He’s glad he kept the Art Club up and running. He was worried that with the senior students graduating to high school, no students would want to keep having the club. After all, it was one thing to take an art course; it was something different altogether to have the time and work ethic to participate in an extracurricular.

He’s lucky to have such dedicated, artistic students.

Alix and Nathaniel have been in the club since the very beginning, when they first came to Dupont. Marinette joined in the middle of last year. Rose and Juleka joined them at the start of this year. And Marc was a recent and welcome addition two months ago.

He just hopes that in the future, he’ll have such nice students as these six that are currently under his care.

* * *

“Nathaniel, I remember you saying you wanted to try out different inking pens,” Mr. Carracci starts, waiting for the redheaded boy to settle into his usual table. “If you’d like, you can try some of my own pens, to see which ones you like the best.”

“Really?” the boy asks, visibly perking up, shooting a smile.

The art teacher nods. “Of course. I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to let you try them.”

The smile grows on the boy’s face until he was beaming.

“Thank you thank you thank you—" Nathaniel chants, all but vibrating in his seat as the man sets down a fat pencil bag filled with his pens. The boy doesn’t hesitate to pounce, rustling through the bag, picking up and looking at various ones. “Oh, Microns! These are super nice! And I heard Pentel’s are decent. And—no way, you have Copics too?!”

Nathaniel looks back up at him in awe, and Mr. Carracci chuckles. “Go on, try them.”

The boy doesn’t hesitate, flipping to an empty page of his sketchbook, hand dancing across the page as he tested the weight and line thickness of the inking pens.

Mr. Carracci can’t help but watch, arms crossed and hip propped against the table, taking in the building excitement of his student.

“You even have _brush pens_ …!” the young artist says—nearly squeals, really—uncapping one of said pens and watching with rapture as the tip glided across the page. The thin line turning thick, back to thin, as he applied different angles and pressure onto the tip. “Jesus. It’s…It’s _beautiful_. The smoothness, the control, the line thickness, the pigment. The _smoothness_.”

“If you’d like, you can keep that one,” Mr. Carracci nods to the pen in Nathaniel’s hand. It’s all he can do to not coo at the boy’s awe in the drawing instrument.

“Really…?” Nathaniel breathes, looking up at him with surprise, uncovered blue eye wide.

“It’s a beginner brush pen, and I have higher grade ones. I wouldn’t mind parting with it,” the teacher confirms. “Go on.”

The redhead brightens even further, smile wide and toothy. “Thanks, Papa!”

You could hear a pin drop. Literally, Marinette spills the pins she was holding in her hands, whirling to stare at them.

From her station, Alix hoots, falling into a cackling fit. Marc, who’s barely entered the room, stands frozen and looks like he’s suffering from second-hand embarrassment.

Nathaniel wheezes, obviously realizing what he’d just said. His face rapidly turns into the color of his hair.

“Mister!” Nathaniel squeaks out, in a weak attempt to cover his slip-up. “Th-thanks Mr. Carracci!” Alix merely laughs harder in the background.

The art teacher bites down a smile, busying himself with collecting the drawing instruments back into the pencil bag and pretending he hadn’t heard. He knows the drill; this isn’t the first time a student has accidentally slipped up and called him their father. He’s been teaching for twenty years now.

“If you want to try these pens again, just ask me,” he says, in an even, calm voice. “I can also tell you where to buy some of them, if you’re curious.”

“R-Right!” Nathaniel says, with a nervous, mortified laugh. From just his body language alone, he looks like he wants to melt into the floor. Mr. Carracci feels both sympathetic and amused at his plight.

The man decides to leave his student, just to give the poor boy time to recover from the mortification of the moment.

“Marinette, are you alright over here?” he asks, walking over and gesturing to the section of floor covered in pins.

Marinette seems to jolt out of her shock. “Oh! N-No, I’m fine—” she squeaks, crouching and fussing about, picking each pin up one-by-one so she won’t accidentally stab herself. “J-Just have butterfingers, that’s all, ahahaha…”

“If you need, I can give you a magnet. That might help.”

“…P-Please?” the pigtail-wearing girl asks eventually, quite sheepish.

“Sure thing. I just don’t want you hurting yourself,” the man nods, moving over to his desk. He keeps various knickknacks and doodads, by virtue of being an art teacher alone. After a little bit of digging, he finds some magnets he uses to pin art to the wall.

“Thanks, sir,” Marinette nods, smiling brightly as he hands her a few magnets. “I’ll return these when I’m done!”

“You’re welcome, Marinette,” he smiles back at her. “But there’s really no rush. Just return them to my desk before club finishes.”

The rest of the Art Club passes by without much incident. Though the second it ends, Nathaniel all but runs out of the room, Alix dogging his heels and laughing up a storm.

* * *

In the next Art Club meeting, Marinette trips again as she enters the room right on time.

“Oh, _c’mon_ …!” she splutters in a whine, groaning at her notebook crumpled to the floor, a few loose papers scattered around her.

Alix laughs, but this time, she crouches and helps Marinette collect the papers. Mr. Carracci bustles over, helping snag the last few wayward pages. He carefully straightens them, and then hands the small stack to the embarrassed Asian girl.

“Do you think it’s something to do with the floor?” he wonders aloud, eyeing the entrance of the room with a small frown. “Perhaps it’s uneven in some way…?”

“No, no, it’s—it’s just me b-being clumsy!” Marinette waves his worries away, quite literally waving a hand spastically in front of herself. “I trip all the time!”

The teacher hums, moving over to carefully step across the tiled floor right in front of the doorway. “It happens half the time you come to this room, Marinette. I feel like it’s a hazard to your health.”

“It’s _fine_ ,” Marinette sighs, dragging out the word ‘fine’. “I’m fine. It’s got nothing to do with the floors, Dad, I keep telling you—”

The girl freezes, blinking her bluebell eyes as realization dawns on her features. Alix is the first to react, snorting loudly before breaking off into laughter.

Marinette smiles sheepishly up at Mr. Carracci, scratching at her temple, her face pink. “S-Sorry, sir, it’s just—my Dad’s always wondering if he should replace the floors at our bakery since I trip so often. I keep telling him it’s my fault, not the floor. My feet just hate me.”

“It’s fine, Marinette,” the man assures the pigtail-wearing girl quickly, giving a small smile. “But if this is a problem for you whenever you walk on tile, maybe you could look into non-slip shoes, or shoes with some sort of tread on the soles.”

She tilts her head, looking considering. “Actually, I _do_ wear non-slip shoes when I help my parents in the kitchen, and that helps…Maybe I should…”

The Asian girl wanders to her usual spot, mumbling under her breath and pulling a pencil from her pocket to scribble furious notes down into her notebook.

Mr. Carracci watches her go, feeling quite bemused as he does. He turns to Alix, who’s calmed down from her laughter. “Do you need any help, Alix?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Alix grins at him, quite impishly. “Thanks though… _Dad_.” She places extra emphasis on the word, cheeky and teasing. It startles a laugh from him.

“If you’re sure,” he says instead, giving a small smile and ignoring the title. He’s not embarrassed by it, so much as he is vaguely amused. And admittedly, a little fond and honored. But he’ll never admit that aloud.

He turns to make his rounds, wondering how exactly these kids managed to get so attached to him so quickly…

It warms his heart.

* * *

During one of the Art Club meetings, Juleka is the one to approach Mr. Carracci first. Which was very odd, as the goth girl usually sat and waited for him to make his rounds across the students. She’s never reached out before.

But today, she does.

“What can I do for you, Juleka?” the teacher asks, quickly hiding his surprise with a warm smile at the shy girl.

“I have more pictures,” she says quietly, holding her camera out to him. “Can you look at them, please?”

“Well, sure thing!” he nods, carefully taking the camera from her.

He looks through the newest pictures. They’re all of night scenes across the water, but at strange angles. Some of them are of the moon. Some of them are of the moon’s reflection on the choppy water. Others zoom in on the skyline of Paris merging with the night sky.

“I see you’ve taken my advice on changing your angles. Very good!” he notes first, smiling encouragingly up at the girl, who fidgets in place and hides behind her hair. “I can see the aesthetic you’re going for in these. They’re melancholic, but quiet and peaceful. They reflect the beauty of the night. I think you’re onto something, Juleka.”

The girl ducks her head, but that doesn’t hide the wide, pleased smile on her face.

“The next thing I can recommend is to try different distances and perspectives in your photographs. You’ve played around with the zoom feature on the skyline, but there’s a few other settings you can use as well. I’m sure you can find even more interesting things to photograph when you do this,” he advises, before carefully handing the camera back to her.

“Alright,” she nods, raising her face to smile at him. Mr. Carracci finds his heart melting just a bit at the shy girl finding herself so comfortable, she can smile openly at him.

“Is there anything else you need?”

“No,” Juleka shakes her head. “Thanks, Pa.”

A beat passes.

The girl squeaks, face flushing pink, ducking her head and hiding behind her hair. Then she turns right on her heel and darts to her usual seat next to Rose. The short-haired girl looks up as Juleka all but buries her face into the girl’s shoulder. Rose giggles, patting her girlfriend’s hair, but doesn’t say anything else.

Mr. Carracci simply smiles and goes back to grading.

* * *

“Mr. Carracci! Mr. Carracci!” Rose trills, skipping into the Art Club room, waving her arm energetically at him in greeting. “Good afternoon!”

The art teacher finds himself smiling and chuckling at her enthusiasm. “Well, good afternoon, Rose.”

Juleka trails behind Rose, hunched in on herself, a faint look of embarrassment on her face. No doubt she’s still flustered about having called him “Pa” last week.

The man keeps an even, encouraging smile on his face. “What can I do for you girls today?”

Soon enough, Rose’s notebook is presented to him. “I wrote a new song! Can you take a look at it, Mr. Carracci?” Rose asks giddily.

The man blinks, feeling quite taken aback by the request. “Oh…! Well, if you’d like, Rose. Though I’m admittedly no writer—"

“Still! I’d like your opinion, sir!” Rose states, very obviously using puppy-dog eyes on him. “Pleeeeease?”

Mr. Carracci can’t help the warm chuckle that falls from his lips. Rose was incredibly sweet, and admittedly her enthusiasm was infectious.

“Of course I’d like to read it,” he tells her, quite honestly, as he gently takes the notebook from Rose’s hands. “I’m simply going to warn you that I might not be the best at giving you feedback in this, that’s all.”

“That’s fine!” the blonde girl chirps, rocking back-and-forth on her heels. “Every little bit helps, right?”

“I suppose so,” he muses, shooting her a smile. “Let me get right on this, then.”

The girl beams at him, turning and skipping towards her usual seat, where her girlfriend was waiting for her.

The teacher turns his attention back towards the notebook in his hands.

“ _You can be a tiger,_

_Tiger,_

_You can be a tiger,_

_A tiger too._

_Not invisible anymore,_

_You’re fierce,_

_You’re free,_

_A tiger too._

_Stalk through the night,_

_Eyes alight,_

_Claws ready,_

_For a fight._

_Teeth are bared,_

_Be prepared,_

_You’re the ruler,_

_They’ll be scared._ ”

As he reads, the teacher notes that the lyrics are rather simple. Sentences are short as well, but it feels like it a stylistic choice rather than a failing of the writing. The shortness must help with keeping a steady and fast rhythm. One can’t exactly keep a beat in a song if the lyrics are too long, can you…?

Either way, there were some interesting descriptor words and metaphors that almost helped paint a picture in his mind. The imagery was very clear as well, which was helpful to follow along.

“ _You’re the queen,_

_Strong and seen,_

_But never mean,_

_For you see,_

_Hiding kindness isn’t a strength,_

_The strength of you,_

_Is permanent_.

_You can be a tiger,_

_A tiger too,_

_Be fierce,_

_Be free,_

_And girl, be you._ ”

The entire thing clicks, just then, and Mr. Carracci doesn’t stop the wide grin from spreading on his face.

He sees now. Rose wrote this song about Juleka.

It could be why she asked him for an opinion, then. If she can’t show her girlfriend the lyrics of a song she’s written for her, to keep things a surprise, then she had to find others that weren’t her go-to person to analyze things.

Well, this was a very personal song, and so much more beautiful for it. Even rereading it again, Mr. Carracci can feel the love and support and empowerment of it. If he was Miss Bustier and Rose turned this in for an assignment in Literature, he’d give her full marks.

The man stands, carefully closing the notebook and walking towards the pair of girls bent over Juleka’s camera.

“Rose, I’ve finished reading your song,” he announces, watching as Rose snaps her head up and beams excitedly back at him.

“Oh! What’d you think then, sir?” she asks, leaning forwards in her seat, blue eyes wide and sparkling.

“I think it was very lovely! You obviously wrote it from the heart, and you used some very nice symbolism,” Mr. Carracci says, keeping his compliments vague as to not spoil things. His gaze flickers over to Juleka, who looks curious and confused. “It’s very well done, Rose.”

“Thank you!” Rose squeals, taking her notebook back, hugging it to her chest. He swears, he can see stars in her big, blue eyes. “I’m so glad you think it’s good! Thanks a bunch, Dad!”

The man feels the words freeze in his throat, blinking back at his student. Rose beams at him, without a care in the world—completely unruffled and not embarrassed whatsoever. Besides her, Juleka goggles at her girlfriend.

Mr. Carracci finds himself smiling. “You’re welcome,” he says simply. “Good luck with your song.”

Cutting his gaze to Juleka pointedly, he looks at Rose and nods. She nods back, giggling delightedly. “Thanks again!” she chirps, wiggling in her seat.

The teacher turns to go back to his desk, catching Juleka hiss something at Rose, but he can’t make out the words. The tone is incredulous, so he guesses that Juleka is wondering how her girlfriend could say something embarrassing without any remorse.

As he settles back at his desk, Mr. Carracci can’t help but wonder how he’s reached this point. He’s nearly had the entire Art Club refer to him as their father in some shape or form.

Does he really come across as that fatherly…? It’s odd to think, really. He’s never married or had children, so it’s not like any paternal instincts or actions could be blamed on that.

Hm…That’s a thought for another day…

* * *

It’s been a few weeks, and Mr. Carracci thinks that things have settled down.

Alix still cheekily calls him ‘Dad’ whenever he checks up on her. Rose has slipped in the occasional ‘Dad’ as well, all the while her girlfriend eyes her in mild horror. The man simply smiles, a bit confused on how to proceed…So he simply acts like he doesn’t hear it.

He makes his usual rounds around the room, checking if his students need anything. When he gets to the table with Nathaniel and Marc, the two perk up, looking up at him expectantly.

“Do you boys need anything?” the art teacher asks, to give the boys an easy way to start their request.

Nathaniel gently nudges Marc in the side, shooting the boy an encouraging smile. Marc’s cheeks flush pink, and he hunches into himself a bit, nodding.

“U-Um, sir…” Marc starts up tentatively.

“Yes, Marc?” Mr. Carracci asks kindly.

“C-C-Could you…Could you l-look at the dialogue I’ve written f-for our comic?” the meek boy asks, looking up at him with big doe eyes.

The teacher smiles, trying for soothing. “Yes, of course! I’d be happy to. Where do you have it written?”

“I-In my notebook…” Marc says quietly, opening said notebook, hesitating before handing it over to him. The teacher takes it with careful consideration, knowing how protective the boy was of his notebook.

“I have some rough panels here, if you’d like to read while looking at them for reference,” Nathaniel offers, nuding his sketchbook forwards as well.

“Yes, that would be helpful,” the man nods, carefully taking a seat across from the duo. Nathaniel slides his sketchbook towards him across the table, and the teacher settles himself to start reading.

His eyes dart from the dialogue to some of the sketched panels, mouthing certain word and phrases to himself as he does so.

Marc has a remarkable way of writing dialogue, Mr. Carracci finds. It feels so utterly natural, unlike the stiff phrases in most books. It’s refreshing, actually. And quite fitting as well, since the characters of Ladybug and Chat Noir are teenagers, so they wouldn’t realistically talk formally in the first place.

It’s all very solid writing. Why, the realism aspect alone makes it grades above other comic books, which depict teenagers in ways that aren’t quite _there_. There a genuineness and charm to the comic the boys are creating that helps lend itself to the enjoyment factor of reading it.

With a smile, the man hands the notebook across the table towards the young writer, and then returns the sketchbook to the comic artist.

“I think that was splendid, boys!” he states with an encouraging smile. “Marc, your writing is already incredibly skilled and polished. The way you write dialogue feels natural and realistic. It flows very well and helps in showing the chemistry and friendship between the characters.”

The two boys look to each other and beam, both going faintly pink from the phrase. Nathaniel knocks his shoulder against Marc, lifting his eyebrows as if to say “ _See? Told you so!_ ”. Marc’s face flushes a deeper pink and he ducks his head, the wide smile still visible on his face.

“The only things I could say to improve is to brush up the use of punctuation and your spelling,” Mr. Carracci advises. “Nathaniel, be sure to be careful of the way you lay out speech bubbles to keep clarity. Great dialogue can suffer by speech bubbles being hard to read.”

“Yes, sir,” Nathaniel nods quickly, scribbling down a note in his sketchbook. “Thanks!”

“Th-th-thank you!” Marc manages to get out, carefully opening his notebook and jotting down notes as well. “I-I really appreciate your advice, Mama.”

Mr. Carracci finds himself blinking because, well. That was new.

Nathaniel whips his head over to stare at the other boy, blue eye wide. It takes Marc a good three seconds for him to realize what he’d said, green eyes flying open in horror and his face going beet-red.

The teacher chances a glance at the rest of the room, to see the other club members unabashedly staring at them. Marinette and Rose are smiling wide, Juleka looks sympathetic and suffering from second-hand embarrassment, and Alix has the look of someone who found out Christmas was coming early. Alix snorts, quickly clamping a hand over her mouth. Mr. Carracci turns back to survey the two boys in front of him, noting that the redhead’s clapped a hand on Marc’s shoulder in sympathy.

The writer opens and closes his mouth, sputtering. Before he finally manages an, “I-I-I’m _so_ s-sorry!”

“It’s fine, Marc,” Mr. Carracci says lightly, feeling concerned as the boy doesn’t relax at all from his assurance.

“I-It’s just—see—y-you r-r-reminded me of—of one o-of my m-moms a-and—” the boy gasps, breaths coming out in rapid pants, his emerald eyes filling up with tears. “A-a-and I’m s- _sorry_ , I—”

Nathaniel snaps his head to look over at Mr. Carracci, horrified, as Marc devolves into what the teacher instantly pinpoints is a panic attack.

“Hey, now,” Mr. Carracci starts, leaning over the table as Marc bursts into noisy tears. His voice is even and practiced, having experience with helping students with panic attacks in the past. “Marc, it’s _fine_. I’m not angry. Okay? I’m not angry. Now, breathe with me. In, out. In, out. There you go. In, out. In and out.”

Marc gasps through his tears, frantic and hyperventilating breaths slowing down to match the teacher’s set rhythm. The panicking boy clutches at Nathaniel’s hand, which the redhead left on his shoulder. Even under the leather of his fingerless gloves, the writer’s hand is knuckle-white with tension.

“There you go,” Mr. Carracci soothes, steady and encouraging. “Just keep breathing with me, okay?”

The man makes sure to look up and wave the girls to stay back and give the boy space. Rose looks distressed and ready to jump in, but Juleka holds her back with both hands on her shoulders. Marinette bites her lip, looking awkward and out of place as she hovers. Alix has retreated to her bag, returning with a water bottle, calm as can be.

The thought flits across his mind if Alix has had experience dealing with people that have panic attacks. Considering how she’s acting, the possibility is high.

After about another three more minutes of careful coaching, Marc manages to push through his panic attack.

“There we are, Marc,” Mr. Carracci says softly, with a small smile, handing him a tissue. The boy takes it with a muttered thank you, quick to wipe his face with it.

Alix steps forwards carefully, nudging Nathaniel with her water bottle. He turns to look at her, nodding in thanks and taking the water bottle, turning back to Marc to gently nudge it against his free hand.

“Here. Drink some water,” Nathaniel says softly, the picture of gentle concern. “It’ll make you feel better.”

The dark-haired boy hesitates, obviously unsure how to proceed. After all, his left arm is crossed over himself, clutching at Nathaniel’s hand that’s on his shoulder.

With the type of care that wouldn’t be misplaced from a loving married couple, the redhead re-arranges Marc’s limbs, opening the water bottle and placing it in the other’s left hand, while he grabs and threads his hand together with Marc’s right.

Marc flushes, throwing his head back to chug down the water bottle.

Mr. Carracci turns his gaze to the other club members, watching Alix forcefully usher the girls away from their table. He shoots her a grateful smile for her take-charge attitude. Watching your fellow student and friend devolve into a panic attack could be a scary thing, after all, especially if you don’t know how to handle one.

“S-sorry…” Marc mutters, gaining the older man’s attention once more.

“You’re quite alright, Marc,” the teacher assures him. “I’m just glad that you’re feeling better.”

The boy sniffles, and the man doesn’t hesitate to hand him another tissue from the packet in his pocket. The boy gives a quiet thank you, letting go of Nathaniel’s hand to take it to blow his nose.

“If you need to go to the Nurse’s office or the bathroom to recover, you’re more than welcome to,” Mr. Carracci reminds the meek boy.

“Yeah, I can take you,” Nathaniel is quick to offer, rubbing Marc’s back. His eyebrows are pulled down in concern, his eyes full of sympathy and protectiveness. “Don’t worry about it, okay?”

Marc turns slightly, blinking back at the other boy, eyes full of awe and soft adoration.

Mr. Carracci simply leans back in his seat, staying completely quiet as the watches the two. He brings a fist up to cover his smile, pressing his fingers against his lips so he won’t do something like coo at how adorable his boys are.

Wait. _His_ boys…?

“O-Okay,” Marc eventually says, sounding dazed.

Nathaniel is quick to stand, smiling softly at the other boy. Marc stands slowly, eyes darting across the room as his face goes pink. “S-Sorry everyone…” he says to the room at large, only to instantly be bombarded with well-wishes and assurances from the girls.

“Don’t worry! Come back when you’re better, okay?” Marinette says to end the discussion, the other girls nodding.

“O-Okay…” Marc stutters, meekly toeing a boot against the floor. Nathaniel claps a hand on his shoulder again, giving him a soft, supportive smile. The writer smiles back shyly.

Marc is then promptly steered out of the room by Nathaniel via the hand clasped on his shoulder.

When the boys are well out of the room, and out of earshot, Alix let out a long sigh. “I hope to _God_ they figure things out, ‘cuz this cute dancing ‘round each other schtick is getting to be too much,” she muses with a flat look.

The other girls burst into giggles, and Mr. Carracci evens finds himself chuckling along.

“Now now, girls. Give them time,” he says, lightly admonishing, standing up and moving over Rose and Juleka. The pair turn to him, looking slightly surprised, and he pointedly raises a brow. “The two of you didn’t get together right away, if I recall.”

The girlfriends had the decency to blush, looking sheepish. Alix lets out a loud bark of laughter, and Marinette giggles.

“You’re right…it might be for the best if we don’t try and meddle,” Rose notes.

“Yeah, they can’t be _that_ oblivious,” Juleka agrees in a mutter.

“It’s always best to have faith,” Mr. Carracci nods. “No meddling?”

“No meddling,” the girls agree, in-synch.

The teacher slowly pivots to give Marinette a look as well. “No meddling?”

“Yeah…I think I’ve had enough of meddling, considering…well. How those two met,” the Asian girl admits with a nervous laugh, a bit bashful. “I don’t want them fighting over another misunderstanding…”

“Amen to that!” Alix calls out loudly, causing them all to laugh at the sporty girl.

Mr. Carracci is sure that Marc and Nathaniel will figure things out soon enough. He has faith in the boys.

* * *

Mr. Carracci wonders how exactly he’s gotten to this point.

As time passes, the students in the Art Club slip up more and more, casually calling him ‘Dad’. Or in the case of Juleka, Marc, and Nathaniel, barely catch themselves from doing so, going pink in the face and stuttering something out to cover it.

A chirped out “Thanks, Dad!” here. A cheeky, “Hey Dad, can you look at this?” there. A sweet “You’re the best, Dad!” that leaves him reeling.

He’s not exactly sure how to stop it. Or if, really, he _should_ be stopping it. It’s not like they were calling him ‘Dad’ during actual class, which would possibly require some form of admonishment to keep up professionalism. No, the kids were only during it during times of the Art Club, where they were technically free from school.

He’s not sure what the right course of action is. He’s been teaching for twenty years, and he’s noticed over time that his students tend to look up to him. It’s his duty to be their guide and protector.

It makes sense if some of his students take him up as a sort of pseudo father figure. Especially for those that either don’t get along with their father, or don’t have a father at all…

Either way, he’s seemingly found himself as being a father to these students.

It’s…heartwarming. And amazing. And makes him feel so incredibly fond, his heart feels close to bursting.

* * *

Mr. Carracci has never had any children of his own. But…He thinks that doesn’t exactly matter.

After all, his students are like his children.

And if they all call him their father, well. It only seemed fitting.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Anyways, Stan the Art Club. Stan Art Dad. Stan teachers that actually do their jobs properly.


End file.
